It's Complicated
by Liacat
Summary: England is angry about France's boasting and decides to take this colony as his own.  He ended up with a lot more than he bargained for.
1. Fateful Meeting

England was puzzled. Something was happening, something that shouldn't be. He cocked his head to the side, surveying the situation, his thick eyebrows furrowed. Then he moved his head to the other side. All in all, it was still puzzling.

A cryptic message was scrawled across the paper. He frowned, trying to read it. If anything, it looked like French, but that frog wouldn't succumb to writing a letter to him. He checked the address, still puzzled. No, it was from France. France had just sent him a letter.

When he had managed to translate the jargon on the page, he swore loudly. France was bragging! He had a new country under his control, and France was enjoying it immensely.

_'Allo, England. How are you? I'm doing well. Especially well, too, because I have a new country under my control. A most innocent and delicious one, at that ! It's a very beautiful place, much prettier than any of your ugly places. Well, I must go and gaze upon my new love, because it fills me with much joy to know you have the crappy end of the stick._

_Au Revoir, stupide._

_Francais_

He was bragging! The nerve of that sodding frog! Well, he'd show how much better _his _colonies were then France's! England felt disgruntled; his colonies were lovely colonies. Prone to, er, rebellion and such, but lovely and annoying- challenging- he reminded himself, colonies.

He stalked off to find his best suit and his coat.

"Oi! Open up!" England pounded on France's door. He waited for several minutes before pounding again. It was cold outside, dawning on winter. "Open up, you fop!"

The door cracked up, France's eye peering through. England gritted his teeth.

"_Quoi? _England? You got _moi's_ letter?" England saw France smile.

"I bloody well did, and I bloody well do not agree!" England bared his teeth in a feral growl. "Now let me in - it's a sodding ice storm out here."

France threw his head back, laughing. But he opened the door to let in England.

England blew on his hands, trying to rub some warmth into them. He sat down on one of the elaborate couches that adorned France's livingroom, and looked around. The place was a little too clean, and a little too... Renaissance.

"Been visiting your 'amazing' colony lately?" England asked, more harshly then he intended. He wasn't jealous; he just knew his colonies were better.

"_Oui. _I was just about to go and visit again. Do you want to come with me?" France smiled. "Of course, if you want to, er, stay here in the cold-"

"It's warm?" England demanded. Ah, warmth. He wanted to feel it.

"Oh, _oui. _Very warm. Is that a yes, then?" France asked. England frowned.

"If I must," he muttered.

It _was _warm where this 'amazing' colony lived. England breathed in the salty air. Oh, how it stirred his adventurous blood. He smiled, but only after he made sure France wasn't looking.

"_Papa Francais!" _England heard. He turned and saw France hugging someone.

"_Bonjour, Seychelles. Ca va?"_

_ "Ca va bon!" _England heard laughing. France moved out of the way of this mysterious colony...

She was young, on the strange awkward cusp of adolescence and adulthood. She had beautiful, wavy brown hair, tempered with big red ribbons. Her skin was tan by days in the sun, her eyes deep pools of chocolate. Her blue dress hid her form, and England was ashamed of himself for even thinking about it.

"_Qui est tu?" _she asked.

"Er-" England said. "Er, _P-parlez-vous ingles?" _He stuttered over the awkward french, hearing France snickering behind him. The girl smiled.

"_Oui. _My name is Seychelles. And you...?"

"Er, England." he tried smiling at her. Her eyes grew big.

"You're _Monsieur _Pirate!" she sighed. She ran up to him, staring with adoration. He backed up a bit, suddenly flushing from her attention. "Oh, papa France has told me so many stories about you! I love hearing stories! Do you know any stories?" she laughed again. She was innocent, and England felt himself beginning to be swamped by it.

"Er- I suppose, if I must," he muttered, staring everywhere but her attentive eyes. She inched closer. He inched farther away. France was behind them, suppressing laughter.

He told her a few stories from when he was younger. He talked about the crusades, and the Romans; of Camelot, and King Arthur. Even of a few pirating exhibitions he had recently been on. She stared at him the entire time, enchanted by him. After a while, he began to loosen up. He liked this girl; she was spirited and lively, not to mention pretty. But she was purely innocent, and he liked that best about her.

Eventually, he had to leave. Seychelles frowned and begged him to stay the night. He almost accepted, but he was embarrassed to think of spending the night with a girl. The blonde man walked away from her, and when he was back home, he knew one thing.

France was right. He _was _jealous. And now he wanted her to be part of his lovely colonies. He smiled, thinking of the time they would spend together. He could introduce to her society, and she could learn to be a proper lady, with gowns and gloves, her hair swept up in a style that could show off the sensuous curve of her neck.

A couple months later, he was knocking on France's door again. France opened it quickly this time. He surveyed England wearily.

"_Quoi?" _he asked. England swallowed hard.

"I would, er, like to have Seychelles." He smiled up at France, and France glared back.

"Hm, let me think. _NON." _France shut the door.

"Wait, please!" England shoved his foot in the doorway. He shoved his way into the room, and pinned France to the wall. France was surprised, and suddenly England had the upper hand. They scuffled for a bit, but England won when he smashed France in the nose with his elbow. There was a moment of silence, and then France spoke up.

"Maybe we can arrange something."

**A/N- Uhh. Just going through and editing it and cleaning it up. (I always forget to edit my stories :( sadface) **


	2. Suave England

A couple days later, England heard a knock on his door. He got up hurriedly, knowing who it would be. When he opened it up, there was a wide-eyed Seychelles standing there.

"_Bonjour, _England." she said, looking around. "It is so cold here! I never knew places could be cold!" she kept on chattering. England tried to look annoyed, but it had been so long since anyone had talked so fervently in his house. He was secretly enjoying it. "Wow! You're house is so... Er..."

"My house is what?" he asked. Perhaps he said it a bit too tersely, because she frowned a bit.

"Um, big." she brightened. "Yes, it's big and beautiful. Though you could do with more plants! Plants like palm trees, and fish! Oh yes, I love fish!" she smiled, closing her eyes. England watched her, amused.

He lead her up to her room. He figured her favorite color was blue, so he had chosen an ocean blue, a color he loved. But as they got closer, he felt his hands start to sweat. What if she didn't like it? What would she do? Would she get angry? He swallowed, knowing he was being irrational and stupid, but he couldn't help it. He hadn't had anyone to live with for a long time. All his colonies had left already, going on to bigger things. He missed having someone to talk to over a cup of tea, or over some scones and jam.

They reached the door. He unlocked it, opening it slowly. Seychelles was quiet now, curious. When the door was fully open, she clapped her hands together and smiled. "Oh, _Monsieur _England! It's beautiful! Thank you! My favorite color is blue. Oh, it makes me feel like I'm back home!" She threw her arms around England's neck, her face nestling on his shoulder. He was suddenly away that her shoulder was draped with a wavy pigtail, which was unsuccessfully tamed by her red ribbons that brushed against his face, washing his senses with a wondrous smell of the sea. England stuttered for a few seconds, feeling her body pressed up against his in her innocent embrace. He could feel himself flushing; her dress hid a great deal from male eyes. After a few seconds of awkward standing, he decided the best approach to this would be to pat her on the back.

"Erm," he cleared his throat. He could feel her shoulder blades against his hand, small bumps rising from her smooth skin. "You're welcome. I hope it meets to your expectations."

"Oh, it does! Thank you, thank you! _Merci beaucoup, merci!" _she pulled back from the hug, her face gazing up into England's with joy. Her hands still rested on his shoulders, and his skin was warm where they lingered. The only thing wrong was...

"Ah, yes. Erm, I do have on request." He cleared his throat again. "Please refrain from sprinkling in those, um, disgusting phrases here and there." he bit his lip. Well, he could have put that better.

Seychelles wrinkled her nose. Her hands slipped off his shoulders, and she fidgeted with her dress. "_Quoi? Repetez, s'il vous plait?" _

"French. You're English property now, so I expect you to act like it. Alright?" he tried to smile, but instead he felt his brows furrow. Seychelles stared at him.

"_Excusez-moi_? I have to _what?" _she was no longer joyful. She was now irritated and hostile. Bugger, he thought.

"Er, you know. I don't want to have anyone host any doubts about who you belong to, so I thought-"

"_Belong _to? Is that what I am? An object?" she threw her head back and laughed. "_Tu es comique! _Next, you'll be telling me I have to follow your orders, like a servant!" she giggled, but there was no happiness. "_Non, monsieur. _I am ME. I will not stop speaking french, and I will continue to be ME. _Bon Nuit." _And she slammed the door in his face.

England gaped, then frowned. He muttered under his breath for a few minutes, and then stalked back to his room. Well. That could have gone better. MUCH better. That wasn't how he had imagined them starting off as. Fighting.

Well, she had spirit. He gave her that.

He made himself a cup of tea, and frowned into it. He wasn't thirsty. He was... depressed. Why did this _always _happen to him? His colonies always rebelled and argued. Why, why, _why_? He only wanted to have other countries around him, to look up to him. Why did they dislike him so? Sure, he liked to control, but that was for _their_ safety! They wouldn't be able to keep themselves safe without his help. He sighed, long and deep, and nestled his head in his arms.

He woke up a good deal later. He heard rustling next to him, and he almost jumped. But the soldier in him told him to stay still and evaluate the situation.

Seychelles was there, holding her stomach. Her face was twisted up as she looked through his pantry, going through his food. He frowned; was she hungry? He sat up, and she jumped. Balefully, she glared at him.

"_Bon jour." _she snapped. His frown deepened.

"Are you hungry?" he asked. Seychelles shook her head viciously, and then her stomach heaved a loud roar. Her hands went to her mouth, and her face turned an interesting red. England with held a smirk.

"Right, I suppose you are. I'll fix something. Wait a few minutes, alright?" when she didn't respond, he shrugged. Walking into his pantry, he rifled through the foods and ingredients, trying to think of something to cook. When he turned, she was there, looking at him. He pushed her out of the way and put a frying pan on the stove. Seychelles watched him attentively.

"Do you have any fish?" she asked suddenly. England shook his head. Heaving a deep sigh, she went back to watching him. They stood that way for a while, him cooking and her watching. England felt a flush creep up his neck as she kept looking... and looking... And looking some more.

"Right, I'm finished. Here you go," he said, handing her a plate. She stared at it suspiciously.

"Are you sure this is edible?" she asked, prodding it with a fork. England blushed furiously.

"What are you talking about? Of course it is!" he laughed nervously, shoveling some of his own food up. Tasted fine to him. She took a bite, and made a face.

"This is disgusting," she said.

"Well, if you don't like it, make your own bloody breakfast." he muttered.

"I will," she declared.

"Good." he snapped.

"I know." she said haughtily. Then she got up, dumped the food left on her plate in the trash, and stalked off. England fumed, staring at his breakfast. The nerve! She- a colony, no less- had the guts to talk to him, England, like that? The sun never sets on his land, as vast and mighty as he was. But a mere slip of a country like her still dared to talk to him like that, like he was still some ignorant undeveloped country? Like an equal? She needed to be taught a lesson. He finished eating his breakfast.

**A/N: edit edit edit edit – ! I just love it. :I NOT.**


	3. Seychelles Captured!

He found her in her room. She was laying on her stomach, her face buried into her pillow. At first, he thought she was crying. He felt bad, a terrible feeling in his stomach, but then he realized the sounds muffled by the pillow were not sobs, but curses. For him. He gritted his teeth, once again angered.

"Seychelles," he said. She turned over, so her back was to him. Her dress settled along her curve, and he felt his eyes following the sleek line from her ribs to her hips and to her folded legs. He closed his eyes, then opened them again, looking past her curves. He walked over, examining her warily as one would a wild animal. And then he clipped a collar around her neck.

She shrieked, kicking out at him. It landed squarely in his stomach, and he dropped to the floor, the wind knocked out of him. While he was wheezing, Seychelles flipped and flailed like a fish, trying to writhe out of the collar. She flailed so hard she fell out of her bed and onto England, knocking the breath he had recently gained. She struggled, trying to writhe out of her collar.

"Take it off!" she yelled. England grunted, trying to get some purchase. He tried hard not to grab something indecent, but Seychelles was out of control. He eventually just forcefully grabbed her, rolling on top of her and sitting on her. She flailed, her knees knocking against his back and her arms pinned to her sides by his hands. Her shrieks subsided to wracking sobs, and eventually those to quiet hiccups.

Watching her become so broken, England felt terrible. He felt like he did back then when America had first left - empty. Seeing this lively spirit so sad in front of him, her face wet with tears, he felt like that again.

"Are you done?" he asked quietly. She didn't answer. He let go of her arms, and her hands massaged the bruises his fingers had left. He saw those marks, and felt even worse. He was terrible. Why had he done such a thing?

Her hands went up to her neck, and he noticed that her dress was very disheveled. Her normally decent top pulled low across her sternum, the half brown moons of her breasts round above the top. He swallowed, and was suddenly very aware of what lay underneath her dress where he was sitting. Look at him, straddling her like this, her legs pressed against his back.

"I'm alright now." she said, breaking him out of his trance. He cleared his throat.

"Yes. Well, you probably want an explanation. I want you to realize that you're English property." he brushed his fingers along the sleek leather of the collar. She shivered, her eyes closed in disgust. "You're my servant now. I want you to listen to my commands. Alright?"

He waited for her to answer. He was tired. He knew he had just crossed the boundaries of ever earning back that innocent and lovely girl he had met at first. And that filled him with pain. But at least he could still gaze at her, and keep her close to him.

"Yes." she said eventually.

"Good. I'll have some tea now." he rolled off her, holding out a hand to help her up. She glared at him, ignoring his hand and helped herself up. She dusted her dress off, and pulled it up. England swallowed, remembering the cleavage he had seen. He felt flushed and looked away as Seychelles fixed her messy pigtails.

"How do I make tea?" she finally asked. England nearly choked on his tongue.

"What? You- You don't know how to make tea?" He gaped. Seychelles flushed angrily.

"Stop! You're making me feel stupid!" she snapped. England smiled. Maybe they could go back to normal.

"Here, I'll show you. But only once, alright? So pay attention." He breathed in, and then started instructing her.

"Bloody hell girl! You want the water boiled!"

"It is boiled!" she bellowed back at him.

"Boiling means bubbles! Wait for the bubbles!" he grunted. And it was almost like she had forgiven him for the collar he had shackled her with. Almost.

Half an hour later, he had a cup of tea. Seychelles watched him attentively, waiting for his reaction. He sipped, and considered.

"Nasty," he said, blanching. And it truly was. "It's worthy of a creature who likes to have mud for breakfast." Seychelles' face fell.

"Well, don't feel too disheartened, you'll get better." England said, trying to cheer her up. Seychelles coughed.

"I'm not going to get better, I'm going to be the best tea maker ever!" she said fiercely. "I'll be so good I'll make you think you're in heaven!" She stood up, clutching the air with her fist. "_Mirez-mi, Monsieur _England! I will show _you!" _and she stalked off, her pigtails bouncing up and down. England watched her until she disappeared, then sat back and sighed. He had figured out that she was far too much trouble then she was worth. But still... In some ways, she was worth it.


	4. Transitions

For the next several weeks, Seychelles and England bickered and fought, but she served him and he watched over her. England was careful not to torment her too much; she was liable to yell at him and storm off, and he knew usually she would suppress angry tears. Her tears made him weak in his stomach, and he felt as if somehow he were someone despicable and evil. He also often tried to bring home little trinkets from his adventures, things that would bring her joy, but would make it look as if he didn't really think about bringing it, as if he had given it to her by whim. He noticed she especially enjoyed the colorful ribbons he found on his trips to Asia and Africa. She would take the ribbon and gaze at it, and sigh with happiness. Then she would turn and smile at him - a genuine smile. Not a fake one or a spiteful one, but one that meant she was pleased and happy with something he did. He cherished those smiles. It made him feel as if he and Seychelles were the only countries in the world.

One day, France came by to visit. "_Bonjour, _England. How is my Seychelles doing?"

"_Papa Francais!" _Seychelles yelled. England watched as she became exuberant with joy, streaking past him and bounding into the open arms of France. He frowned as they chattered in French, and he noted how France rubbed her back, and petted her hair. And stared at her chest, which England had been trying very hard not to stare at.

"_Como es-tu?" _France asked. England swallowed; any berk could see he was asking how Seychelles was doing. And knowing France, he was looking for a chance to snatch back Seychelles from England. He waited nervously to see Seychelles reaction.

She looked surprised, and seemed to think. She looked over at England. She was going to rat him out. Not that he had been terrible (Well, except for the collar thing.) but he knew he hadn't really made a lasting and great impression. She was going to say no, and then she was going to say good bye and he was going to be alone again.

She looked away, and England felt his heart sink past his feet.

_"Je suis bon. Et tu?" _France smiled, and rapidly said something back.

England stood there. Had she- Had she really? Did she just say what he think she said?

Did... Did that mean she was staying? By him?

France finished up with her. He stooped down and kissed her on both cheeks, and then on her forhead. He gave her a hug, glared at England, and swept out the door. Seychelles looked wistfully after him.

"I miss _papa _France," she said.

"You could have gone back with him," said England. Seychelles glanced at him, flushing. Then she looked away.

"I could have." she said. "Are you hungry, _monsieur _thick brows? I feel like cooking something delicious." She got up, and twirled past him. He smelled the ocean breeze on her as she spun around him, ducking through the doorway and into the kitchen. He wanted to reach out and brush his fingers along her satin tan cheek, or run his hands through her silky hair. But he didn't. He merely pulled up a chair and sat down in it, watching her dance through the kitchen. She hummed as she worked, a simple tune. She was slightly tone deaf, but it was still beautiful. He nestled his face into his arms on the table and smiled into them.

After their dinner of salmon and rice, England brought out his latest catch for Seychelles.

"Wait here," he told her. She scrunched up her nose, her way of expressing her irritation.

"I'll do what I like," she muttered. But she sat there anyways.

He came back, holding something behind his back. It rustled seductively, and Seychelles was on the edge of her chair.

"Oh, England," she whispered.

It was a dress. It was the same blue as hers, but richer and had deeper and more subtle hints of other colors as well. It shone iridescently, and caught the light in ways dresses usually can't. Seychelles reached out a hand, but recoiled, almost afraid that she wasn't allowed to touch it.

"Can I..?" she asked, her eyes wide and pleading. England smiled.

"Yes, of course. It _is_ yours, you know." her reaction was wonderful, and it was going splendid.

She breathed out, gathering the dress in her arms carefully. Then she stepped out to put it on. England waited, fidgeting impatiently as he tried to imagine was she would look like.

She stepped in. The dress fell down to her knees, and her feet bare. It was sleeveless, and hugged her curves before flaring out a little past her hips. The bodice glimmered with pearls, and her tan skin glowed next to the oceany blue. Like sand shifting underneath the water. She twirled, breathless.

"How do I look?" she asked.

"Astounding," England said. He hoped he sounded like he meant it. "Except for..." He stood up, and unclasped the collar around her neck. He tossed it away, and then brought out a pearl necklace. Standing in front of her, with her face so close to his chest, made him a bit dizzy. But he managed to clasp the necklace. Then he untied her two pigtails, and swept her hair up elegantly and tied it off with a matching ribbon. He stepped away. "There," he said, lifting her face with his hand. "You look beautiful." Seychelles stared into his eyes, and England stared back. Then he looked away; her gaze was too disconcerting and hid too many things. He couldn't tell what she was thinking.

"Thank you," she said quietly. When he looked up, she was gone. He sighed, sitting down heavily. His mind was in turmoil, but with nothing. Just... roiling thoughts about everything and nothing.


	5. The Awful Truth

England found he couldn't bare to see Seychelles' bare neck. Eventually, he retrieved the collar and asked for- well, demanded- her to wear it again. At first she refused, glaring at the thing and spitting at him about oppression and chafing, but one day he came back to plead with her and she was wearing it.

"My neck got cold," she snapped, her face red. England shrugged, relieved. This way, the curve of her neck was hidden by the bulky collar. Their days passed peacefully. Well, as peacefully as their days could pass. Sometimes they argued, and sometimes they had those electric moments where England was suddenly hit by how shiny her hair was, or how her eyes were flecked with little pieces of gold. Whenever these moments would hit, he would flush and yell even louder at Seychelles, who would of course respond by yelling her own insults.

"Seychelles!" England called one day. "Seychelles!" he looked around, and waited. "Dammit, where is that bloody girl?"

She traipsed in, her dark curls bouncing in their red ribbons. "_Oui, Monsieur?" _she asked politely enough, but England could hear the sarcastic and rebellious undertones.

"Get me some tea," he said. She was excellent at making tea now. Only now, she experimented with ways to make highly expert and classy tea, but just the kind that England hated. "Except, make me some Earl Gray. Two sugars, and some milk." There. There was no way she could screw that up, or twist it. Seychelles smiled sweetly.

"_Oui, monsieur." _she quipped. England regarded her suspiciously. She sashayed away, her blue dress twisting around what England grudgingly admitted as a deliciously curvaceous frame. He heard her rustling in the kitchen, and he looked back to the papers he had been rummaging through. Just old things he need to clean up.

Soon, he came across a photo album. He was curious; he had never seen this before. Where did it come from? After much pondering, he flipped it open and paged through it. Ah. That's why he hadn't remembered it. He had tried so hard to forget about it.

It was pictures of him and his colonies when they were young. There was small India, her dark eyes shining and her black hair pulled back elegantly into a braid, sitting on England's shoulders. Her smiles had been so shy and secretive. America making obscene gestures behind England's perfect posture. And there was Madagascar with her newly pierced ears, pointing her first dull pirate sword towards the camera and tripping over England's long pirate coat. It had been too long for her at first, but she had grown into it. Hong-Kong and his almost girlish face, blushing as England patted him on the head. Australia, climbing a tree and refusing to come down. Canada holding a stuffed bear. America playing with his toy soldiers, India dancing, her feet a blur under her sari. Australia all bandaged from playing with animals, Madagascar holding a lemur, America sitting on Canada, on and on the pictures of the younger colonies flooded the pages, and the memories invaded England's mind. But none of them were his anymore; most of them had decided to move on. Become adults. Some stayed in touch, but most had ripped free.

He snapped the book shut, and leaned back, covering his face with his hands. It still hurt. He heard the chink of the tea cup, and then a small whoosh as someone sat down. He didn't need to open his eyes to know it was her. She smelled of ocean; that alone was enough for England to realize it was Seychelles.

"Are you alright?" she asked eventually. England looked at her. She was leaning on the table, one arm resting in her lap, the other propping her up. Her eyes were big, concerned, and her blue dress was ruffle and pulled upwards, exposing her smooth tan legs and feet. He almost groaned.

"Yes, I'm fine-" he started to say, but Seychelles smacked his forehead with the bottom of her palm. He stopped, looking at her. "Bloody he-"

"Evidently you are _not _okay, and I don't know why I asked that. Why does anyone? The appropriate question should be, do you want to talk about it?" Seychelles sat back, crossing her arms and her legs, staring at England almost as if she were issuing a challenge. He swallowed.

"I guess... I don't know." he shoved the book over. "Memories. They get to you." He watched Seychelles as she flipped open the photo album. She smiled.

"You look so happy. Except in this one. You look pretty pissed at- who is it?" England checked.

"The United States," he said. Then he laughed. U.S. was trying out the tea England had just served him, and had dumped it all over him just as someone was taking the photo. England's face was livid, and America was leaping out of the chair with a slightly fearful smile. Seychelles laughed with him. Then she flipped to a new page, and her eyes got wide.

_"Monsieur _England_,_ I never knew you would resort to this," she said wryly.

"What?" asked England, suddenly fearful. What picture was it? He looked, and almost yelped in embarrassment. It was a picture of him drunk and doing something very odd and innappropriate, which he most certainly shouldn't have been doing in front of America, Canada and Australia, who were giggling and getting out paintbrushes. "G-give that here!" he grabbed for the book, but Seychelles nimbly avoided his reach.

"What are you even doing in this picture?" she asked, ducking out of the way of another attempt to retrieve the book. "_Sacre bleu!_ Is-is that-?" she blushed. England desperately lunged for the album, but she didn't move like he thought she would, sending both of them crashing out of the chair and onto the floor.

"OUCH! _Sacre vache!_" Seychelles groaned as the book went spinning away across the tiles. England was dizzy and confused; where was everything? He must have hit his head. "Um, _Monsieur _England? Could you please, er, move you hand?"

What? He opened his eyes, and realized his face was nestled in the place where her neck met her shoulder. Bloody hell, Seychelles smelled good. Oceans and islands, treasure, freedom. Her hair tickled his face, and when he flexed his hand, he felt something soft. Seychelles jumped.

"_S-s'il vous plait..." _she pleaded. He looked at her face, and she was blushing furiously. And when England located his hands, he did too. One was wrapped around her hips and onto her butt, and the other around her back, reaching up to almost brush against her breasts. He moved to let go, but it was hard for him. He wanted to stay like this.

"Ah, sorry." he murmured, looking back up to her face. She was still cherry red, looking the other way. But then she uplifted her eyes to his, and stared at him. He could count everyone of those eyelashes if he wanted to. He noticed her mouth was slightly parted, her lips red and sticking together in some places.

Next thing, he was kissing her. Seychelles stiffened under him, her arms pressed up against his chest. At first, she turned her head away, but England just kissed her neck instead.

"S-stop it!" she gasped. She struggled, kicking, but he wouldn't let go.

"Why?" England demanded. "It's been apparent for a long time that I've been in love with you. Do you know how hard I tried to avoid it? But no. Stupid, bloody brainless wench." he kissed her fiercely. "Stupid, beautiful, lively amazing girl." he whispered, brushing his lips against her.

"What?" she asked, stupefied.

"What do you mean, 'what?' I just told you I bloody loved you." England glared at her. She gazed back, confused.

"B-but you were always so mean to me-"

"I'm not good with, er, emotions." England muttered. He rolled off of her, reluctantly, and sat up to look down at her. Seychelles just lay there, looking more and more confused.

"S-since when?" she asked quietly.

"I don't know. Probably forever, since I first met you. I knew I wanted you under my control. I couldn't stand thinking of that perverted frog being around you every day." he shuddered. Stupid France._ I hate him and his stupid hair and his weird little not-beard._

"You mean _Papa _France?" she whispered. She sat up, running her fingers through her hair and smoothing her dress, looking everywhere but at England. Her frowned; it irritated him and sent little pangs through his body when she avoided his gaze like that.

"Listen," he said, grasping her chin with his hand. She squeaked, blushing, as he forced her face towards his. She wouldn't look him in the eye. "Please, don't mind this. It doesn't really mean anything... It'll be the same as before, I promise." was... Was he begging? He was begging her... _He, _England, Britain, one of the greatest countries in the world, was begging to a mere tiny island.

_"Monsieur _England, _s'il vous plait. _You just... Just..." she blushed, looking up at him through her long, glorious eyelashes. "You just kissed me. That is _not _something we did before. Next, what will you want? I'm not ready to..." she swallowed very fast, and England dropped his hand.

"T-that's alright," he said. He felt numb, as if he wasn't the one talking and he was merely listening to someone else talk with his voice and body. "I... I'm not expecting anything. I never thought you would love me back..." He turned away, his voice cracking. He hated that betrayal of emotion.

All he could think... Oh, bloody hell. _She doesn't love me back, she doesn't love me back. She hates me... _

_ She'll never think about me that way. _


	6. A Farewell

_She'll never love me like that..._

The realization hit England like a punch to his stomach, leaving him winded.

He numbly stood up, walking away from Seychelles. She quickly sat up, fixing her dress, her bangs covering her surely cherry red face. He watched out of the corner of his eyes, noticed how she lowered her face, pushing stray strands behind her ears. Or how she retied her ribbons, but kept on messing them up. She sent him a distressed stare, and he quickly turned to look her in the face as well, opening his mouth to say something.

She flinched. He felt his breath catch in the back of his throat, and he furrowed his thick eyebrows in disbelief. "Um, er- I think I'll just go and- um- clean up..." she managed eventually, keeping her eyes carefully on the ground. She ran out, trying to distance herself from him, he supposed. He heard her small feet run up the stairs, and the door slam to that blue room.

England stood there, watching the spot where she had been. He had no idea how long he looked at that square tiled floor, or what he thought. He just knew that he wished that these last several minutes hadn't happened... It was better before. He would much rather have her disdainfully dump tea all over him then flinch at the mere sight of his green eyes. He clutched his chest; keeping quiet and watching her had been painful, but it had been a secret. It was certainly better then this hurt and shame that reached through out his body...

_Rejected... _Whispered the tendrils of anger and humility. _She'll never love you..._

"I don't care if she doesn't love me back," he whispered furiously. "I just want her to be happy!"

_How cliched, _they murmured. He glanced around for the voices. _'I only want her happiness!' Truth be told, you only want _your_ happiness. You want to satisfy your lust, right? That's why you knocked her down and had your way-_

"Shut up!" England shouted. The whispering stopped. He sat down heavily in his arm chair, staring at the photo-album.

"I ought to have those anti-spirit charms replaced," he said hoarsely.

The bell to his door rang, the loud clamor of it frightening him. He felt his heart thump for several seconds before he collected himself, standing up and straightening out his vest.

"Remember," he muttered. "You are a composed and very gentile Britishman. You are like a still lake... Compose yourself."

England opened the door, and then slammed it shut, his composed gentleman face cracking into one of loathing.

"Ohhhhh, England! Why must you always be such a party pooper!" cried France, who had managed to shove his foot in the way just before the door had fully closed.

"G-go away, weirdy beardy man!" shouted England.

"Oh, _mon dieu, mon ami!" _France growled through a thoroughly forced smile. "Let me in!" And after another one of their brief scuffles, France forced his way in.

"Ah, your house is big and stuffy like always! And why is it always muddy and raining here?" criticized France.

"Mmm." England said. He looked dejectedly at the ground. France stared with disbelief, shuddering from the lack of hostility.

He tried again. "And what's that smell? It smells like something died! Oh, _non- _Did you try cooking again? You know what I said about..." he trailed off. England hadn't paid the slightest attention to his taunting.

"Oh, England." he said. "What has happened to you, old friend?" he pulled England over to the couch. England responded to the pull like a zombie; there was movement, but no life.

The door burst open, and a huffing Canada fell through the doorway. "I-I'm sorry I took so long, Mr. France!" he gasped. "But you left me behind at that gas station and I had to track you through all the love hotels and bakeries- Oh... Mr. England, are you alright?"

England looked up, a little bit of life returning. "Can... Canada?" he asked.

"Um, yes, it's me," Canada said softly. "Um, I'm sorry if I'm not exactly what you expected. But I came to see you, because it's been a while and Mr. France said he was thinking of visiting you anyways because of Sis Seychelles and... Well... Yeah."

England had been staring at Canada with curious affection for most of his speech – it had been a long time since the quiet and unnoticeable, but not at all unlikable, country had last been in this very house, and England was remembering how nice it had been with him and America. But Britain's expression once again returned to depressed suicide land at the mention of Seychelles.

"Uuummm, er, sorry, I didn't mean it, eh?" Canada said, flustered. France had long since disappeared, so the seat next to England was soon preoccupied by the distraught Canada.

"I've missed you, you know..." said England. Canada smiled.

"I'm just glad you remembered me," said Canada. "I didn't think I leave much of an impression after that hamburger freak." they laughed a bit, and England sat back on the couch. Maybe... Maybe it wasn't their fault that they left, or stormed off, leaving him alone. Maybe it was his.

_"EEEENGLLLLAAAAND!" _roared a masculine voice – presumably France- throughout the house. Canada jumped, and England moaned.

"Oh no." he muttered, feeling the dread sinking down through his stomach.

"P-papa France!" England heard Seychelles desperately call out. "I'm sure he didn't mean it-"

"England!" France growled as he burst into the room. Canada flinched, scooting away from England.

"Sorry," he apologized fearfully. "I like my life..." England grimaced.

"Is it true that you confessed your love to- to-" France threw his head back dramatically, sniffing. "My lovely, my one and only Seychelles?"

"Papa-" Seychelles protested. Her eyes met England's, and she blushed furiously, looking away. "I'm sure it was just a lie."

England stared at her; how could she just say that? He poured his feelings out to her, and she brushed it off as if it were nothing? _I'm sure it was just a lie! _Feh, he thought bitterly. This really hurts.

Could it possibly hurt more? He almost laughed. Well, with nothing else to lose...

"Yeah, she's right." he said. Seychelles froze, and France stopped sobbing. Canada meekly observed a vase. "I was joking. She's so innocent. I never thought she'd take me seriously."

"I-I didn't take you seriously!" she replied hotly, flinging her face up and glaring at him. He smirked.

"Oh really?" he smoothly retorted. "You seem awful flustered."

"England..." France interjected. "Even you would succumb so low...? Are you sure?"

"I have been known to play pranks." Britain calmly stated, and then leered a grin. "Unless you've forgotten?"

_"Non..." _France wearily said, his face suddenly depressed. "I doubt I'll ever forget."

_"Stupid eyebrow bastard!" _Seychelles yelled all of a sudden. Both France and England jumped. "I'm not some country island bumpkin! Why would you be so mean?" she angrily rubbed her face.

"A-are you crying?" England asked worriedly. He hadn't meant to make her cry.

"NO!" she shouted. "Why would I cry over something as stupid as this?" Seychelles coughed, covering her face. England reached out, but then he stopped... His hand hung there tantalizingly for seconds that seemed like years before pulling it back in. France's blue eyes watched him.

"Seychelles-" France began.

"I want to go away!" she yelled. Fat tears dripped down her face from underneath her arm. "Take me away from here!" she stated again, her eyes still hidden.

_"Oui, mon petite chou," _France gently said. His eyes found their way to stare at England's. He tired not to flinch from the icy blue, but the anger and accusation rang out.

"Come along, Canada." France demanded. Canada rushed over, nodding his head in acknowledgment towards England.

"Nice seeing you again," Canada whispered. England managed a wan smile. He moved to join Seychelles and France. England watched as France closed the door, shutting away the blue of her...

Their eyes met one final time before the door slammed, cutting off the scent of the ocean.


	7. Realizations

That... That wanker!

_ I hate his guts, that stupid eyebrow bastard! _Seychelles stomped along beside France and Canada, fuming. Her hand clenched France's, and he began to laugh nervously.

"_Mon petite chou_, You're hurting my hand!" he said. Seychelles looked up, startled.

"Oh," she muttered, releasing his hand. "_Je suis desolee, papa.._."

"No, it's fine." he murmured back, shaking feeling back into his fingers. Seychelles knotted her eyebrows, thinking some more and sending every curse she knew towards that thicky-thick eyebrow bastard.

"Are you alright?" a voice inquired softly, tugging on her pigtail gently. She looked into the soft blue eyes of Canada, who was looking worriedly into her own cocoa ones.

"Ngh," she said. Her throat felt funny, and her eyes were heating up. She nodded fiercely.

"Are you sure?" he asked again, glancing forward at France who was far ahead of them. When he looked back, tears were streaming down Seychelles rather scary face, which was twisted in concentration. "Ack!"

"Dammit!" she cursed, rubbing at her eyes fervently. "I was ok until you asked me!" she sniffed, and then let out a long forced breath. Canada nervously patted her shoulder.

"Its ok, that guy's a jerk. He knows U.S., right? So of course he has to be an ignorant and insensitive person." Canada grounded his teeth together. "Anyone who was that friendly with that stupid idiot has to be as soft in the head as him..."

Seychelles stared back at him, her tear stained face no longer scrunched, but confused.

"Er, are you trying to comfort me by telling me that Mr. U.S. is a butthead?" she asked bluntly. Canada jumped, and laughed quietly.

"Eh, well, er- Did it work?" he replied. She tilted her to the side, considering it.

"Well, I'm not crying anymore," she said eventually. And then she smiled. "Thank you, Canada."

"You're welcome," Canada murmured, patting her shoulder. He glanced back at France, who had stopped and was waiting for them. "Let's catch up to France," he told her.

"Alright," she said. She hitched up her dress and ran, leaving him in the dust.

At France's house, it was heaven. France held out his hand for her collar, and she gave it to him. He threw it in the trash, but for some reason, her breath caught in her throat. Later that night, she went and retrieved it. She didn't know why, but it was important to her. She had worn it for what seemed like forever, and to be without it was like being naked. She didn't wear it around her neck anymore, though, because France would have been angry. Instead, she kept it in a drawer next to her bed, and sometimes took it out before going to bed, and remember.

Canada would visit sometimes. So would Madagascar. They would speak in French and laugh, and all take comfort in the fact that they had all been through the same thing. Every single one of them had been oppressed and ruled over by both France and England.

"I never understood him," Madagascar said. "He always orders and obeys his countries, and he refuses to show a nice side."

"Yeah," Canada agreed. "But sometimes he'd be kind."

"Are you kidding me?" Seychelles scoffed. "He's always a stupid, mean Brit. He wouldn't lift a finger if it didn't benefit him in some way."

"That's not true..." Madagascar replied, her black eyes gazing into Seychelles' honey ones. "He let Canada leave without so much of a fight. And he always protected his colonies fiercely..."

"And sometimes he'd bring me gifts," Canada mused.

Seychelles frowned. "But..."

"Oh, yeah! And he'd always yell at us for doing stupid stuff, but then he'd ask if we were okay." Canada began.

"And then he pretends as if he doesn't care!" Madagascar finished. They both laughed.

A sob interrupted their reminiscing. When they looked over, Seychelles was choking back her cries, her eyes filled with tears. When she saw them looking, she hid her face.

"Don't look at me!" she cried. Canada and Madagascar stared, a little shocked.

"S-Seychelles," Madagascar began, hesitantly.

"I don't cry! I'm not some weak girl!" the small island said. Canada shook his head.

"No, you're right. But everyone cries, Sey. It doesn't mean you're weak. It just means you're hurt."

"H-hurt?" she hiccuped.

"Hurt?" Madagascar asked, thoroughly confused.

"Don't you know why you're crying?" Canada asked Seychelles kindly. She shook her head. "Well, when is it you cry the most?"

"When I think of that eyebrow bastard," she sniffed automatically.

"And what do you feel when you think of him?"

"Anger," she began hotly. "Annoyance, dislike, and..." she mumbled something.

"What?" Madagascar asked, and Canada smiled.

"I feel lonely..." murmured the tan girl, tears swelling up in her eyes again. "I miss him."

"What else?"

"I felt happy, sometimes, when I was with him... When he gave me trinkets or praised me... Or when he even smiled." she sniffed. "He was always so mean to me, but when he would be kind, it made me so happy..."

She started sobbing again. "I miss him... I was so hurt when he said he lied. I didn't want it to be true, what he said, but it hurt so much when he said it was a joke!" Seychelles hunched over, sobbing. She hadn't cried yet in the weeks after leaving England, but the feelings had built up and were suddenly pouring out, battering her like a storm. Canada rubbed her back with sympathy, while Madagascar stroked her curly hair, shooting confused looks to Canada.

After a while, her sobs subsided, and she fell asleep.


	8. Ale and Pancakes

England heard a knock on the door. Slowly, he stood up. He was past hoping it would be her. He knew she was never coming back. She was gone forever. Recently, the sharp pain in his heart had dulled to an ache. Sometimes, he could ignore it, but it was always there.

"Hello?" he called. Somewhere inside him, a traitorous tendril of hope stirred. He opened the door, and his heart leaped to his throat...

"Alfred," he said. "Oh. It's you."

"Hey, bro. 'Sup to you, too." said America as he shouldered his way through the door. "Man, it's been, like, what? Forever since we last talked."

"Really? I hadn't noticed," England said dryly. "I'd been enjoying my solitude..." he trailed off, closing his eyes as the pain flared. America saw, and furrowed his blonde eyebrows. For such a dense country, he was surprisingly sensitive sometimes.

"Hey... England."

"What?"

"Let's go drinking." England glanced up, about to refuse. But America just looked at him, shaking his head.

"...Alright," he murmured.

"I-I-I just don't undershtand," hiccuped the drunk Englishman.

"Go on, dude," said the sober American. He sipped his Budweiser while the Brit choked on a peanut.

"It'sh... It'sh jusht... I loved her sho much..." slurred England. America raised an eyebrow.

"'Her?'" he asked. "Who's this?"

"My... My lovely little colony... She's jusht sho... Shpunky!" England hiccuped. "Remindsh me of you when you... You wash a wee bloke..." he sniffed. "She wash sho fiershe..." he rubbed his nose, smelling his drink. "Agggh who took my drink? Did the little gnome... Another drink!"

"Uh, bro- I think you've had too-" America began, but the emerald eyes glared at with such ferocity he shut up. "Yeah... Another drink for my friend, huh?"

England took a large swig from his drink, and then stared into the ale. "I mish her..." he said softly. "I mish her voishe... And her shmell... Sshe shmelled like... Like the shea!" he opened his arms, barely missing America's face. "Didn't she?" he asked, turning to America.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah she did..." America stuttered, ducking underneath the waving arms.

"And she wash sho amazing... She had shpirit..."

"Seems like you've had too much spirit," America joked. England stared blankly. "Whatever, dude. That was a joke."

"Can you... Can you find her?" England asked, worried.

"Who? This chick you're hung up over? I don't even know-"

_"Can you bloody find her, you shod?" _England grabbed U.S.' front, bringing him close. America blinked, surprised.

"Um, yeah. I'll find her..." England sighed with relief, and then sagged on the table, snoring. America shook his head, surprised.

"Dude... You need to stop drinking," he said, forgetting that this idea had been his own.

_Knock, Knock!_

Canada sighed, putting down his fork laden with pancakes. He wiped his hands free of the stickiness, and opened up the door. "Oh... It's you, eh?" he said wearily.

"Hey bro, wassup?" America asked loudly as he moved into the warm house. "Man, is it me, or do those pancakes look totally delish?"

"Is it me, or are you especially obnoxious today?" Canada muttered.

"Huh?" America asked, turning around with a knife in his hand.

"U-um, nothing, hahaha!" Canada frantically waved his hands in denial. America sat down and began to eat Canada's beautiful pancakes. Canada sat down, sighing. Oh well. That's just how America was, he thought.

"So, I'm like looking for this island chick," America finally said.

"Eeeeh?" Canada asked.

"Island girl. English colony. Uh, beautiful, full of spirit, smelled like the sea?" America swallowed the large chunk of soft pancake, and then downed some milk. "England's looking for her. I think. She could be fictional. He was, like, totally wasted when we talked."

"H-h-he's looking for her...?" Canada asked, his blue eyes wide. America's equally blue eyes stared back as he nodded, his giant cow-lick bouncing.

"Cha. I went to visit him yesterday cos I was bored, and I found him all suicidal. Then we went drinking and he was like all 'oooooh woe is me there's this hot chick I miss her eurhgjslnf'" America made choking gestures and grabbed his throat, rolling his eyes into the back of his head. "Well, he didn't actually gargle so much as choke, but whatever. But he's like super depressed, and it's making me depressed. See? I gained like a pound because of my depression!" America demonstrated by poking his stomach.

"Yes, because you gaining weight could not possibly have anything to do with all the junk you eat..." Canada said wryly.

"Hey, bro. Don't be hating on my food! It's not like your super buttery pancakes and extra greasy bacon is any healthier!" America retorted, holding out his hand. Canada laughed.

"But I'm a lumberjack. You're just a guy who sits on his butt, eh?" Canada smiled innocently, and America laughed loudly.

"I could totally crush you right now, but I won't. Cos you're like one of my best brothers."

"And I'm the only brother who actually likes you..." Canada added. America grinned.

"Yeah, that too." America gathered his curly blonde head in his elbow, giving the poor nation a noogy worse than any other. Canada yelped, writhing. Finally America relinquished his hold.

"Okay, well, I'm not stupid."

"Could have fooled me," Canada murmured, too soft for America to hear.

"I know you know what I don't know about who knows that little island chick." America said. He waited for Canada's response, who merely stared at him.

"Um, sorry, but was that even English?" asked the confused blonde.

"Nope. It was American. Who's the chick?"

"Who? Seychelles?"

"Is that who England is all kamikaze for?" America piped out, his glasses perched dangerously on the end of his nose.

"Um, I suppose so... I dunno. Last time I saw them together, England played a prank. I know it hurt Seychelles a lot..."

"Oh, wow! Score! I love soap operas!" America interrupted.

"Hey... You do realize that actual countries have feelings, and the whole world isn't just set up for your entertainment, right?" Canada asked heatedly. America grinned.

"Really? Sure feels that way." At Canada's shocked expression, America laughed, holding up his hands in a surrender position. "I'm joking, I'm joking! Keep cool, bro!"

"Is England really looking for her?" Canada asked.

"Um, I think so." America replied, tapping his finger against his mouth. "I dunno, he was pretty drunk. He did say the word love a lot... Whatever. I mean, I think it'd mean a lot to him."

"Why do you even care?" Canada asked, exasperated. "I thought you hated England!"

"Hey! I may be insensitive, but I'm not a brute!" America replied, hotly. Canada's mouth dropped, and then he closed it. "I really do like England. It would be unbelievably pig headed not to like someone who raised me wholeheartedly. He devoted himself to me for years. I just got tired of constantly being told what to do. Doesn't mean I'm not grateful to the dude," America snorted. "Sorry. My nose was stuffed. Anyways... Canada?"

"I think that was the nicest thing I've ever heard you say," Canada whispered. "Alright, I'll tell you. Seychelles is staying at France's house. England hurt her deeply, but I'm glad to hear he does love her. She misses him-"

"Oh, sweet! This will make a totally great movie!" America beamed. Canada rolled his eyes.

"Just be nice to her. She's a stubborn girl. Doesn't like being told what to do..."

"Oh, ja, ja. I understand that." America nodded vigorously. "I think we'll get along."

"Just don't get too cozy, ok?" Canada warned. "The poor girl has been through enough without you fiddling with her!"

"Fiddle, fiddle," America said, looking shocked. "Why would I do that? You make me sound as bad as France!"

"In some ways, you are..." Canada muttered. America grinned, and stood up.

"S'been nice seeing you, man. I've missed you." America's wide-toothed grin faded into something more gentle, something more real. Canada smiled back.

"It has been awful quiet recently," he said. They embraced. Then America patted his head and walked out the door.

"Thanks for the pancakes, bro."

**A/N: For some reason, Canada and America as brothers just makes me cry with joy. ;w;**


	9. Dreaming

"_Seychelles," came the exasperated voice. "Can you do nothing right?"_

_ "I'm trying my hardest!" she said, gritting her teeth. "But it's sort of hard when you keep on nagging me!"_

_ She was trying bake something. She didn't know exactly what, but it smelled good. The room had that misty quality that dreams always had. Except for his eyes. They were a startling green, with emerald and sea green flecks. They were beautiful. And right now, they were narrowed with annoyance._

_ "I do not nag," he snapped. "I offer constructive criticism."_

_ "It's criticism, but it isn't constructive," she said back. _

_ "What did you say?" he growled. _

_ "I said kiss me," she replied._

_ The dream suddenly swung to something else... He smiled, leaning closer. The kitchen had melted away to a field of green grass, swaying in the wind. The sky overhead was a brilliant blue, with fat fluffy clouds sluggishly trailing along. His lips met hers, and she felt the electric thrill race down her spine. His hands were in her hair, and he pushed her onto the ground, the sweetness of the kiss making her melt. She felt warm everywhere, especially lower down... Their flesh seemed to melt into each other. She had no idea where she began and he ended. She just knew that she want to be with him forever._

_ "I love you," she told him, her voice soft. He smiled at her sweetly._

_ "I don't love you," he whispered cruelly in her ear before covering her nose and mouth with his hand._

Her eyes flew open, sweat dripping down her forehead. She grasped the sheets of her bed for a few minutes, struggling to rid herself of that awful hollow feeling that the dream had left behind.

"It was just a dream," she breathed out. "Just a dream." Seychelles closed her eyes, holding back the loneliness.

A tap at the door made her jump. She listened closely for a few seconds, wondering if she had imagined it. Then it came again.

"Just a second!" she called out. "Ouch," she muttered as she stepped on something sharp. She pulled a white dress on, and tied her red ribbons in her hair, smoothed her bangs down and splashed some water on her face from the bowl next to her bed. Another more persistent and impatient knock sounded out through the room, painfully loud.

"I'm coming," she said a bit tersely. _"Mon dieu, _who would be calling on me- Oh. Hello."

"Hey." came the reply.

A tall, blonde man with brilliant blue eyes looked down at her. He shoved his glasses back up his nose, his lips twisted with a mischievous smile. Seychelles took in his blue striped suit, his expensive yet scuffed shoes, and his gloves stuffed carelessly in his pocket. But what tipped her off about who this was was the giant strand of hair that somehow managed to defy gravity.

"You... Are you Mr. America?" she asked. The expression on her face could only be described as awestruck.

"The one and only!" he replied cheerfully. He even gave her a peace sign for good measure. She opened and closed her mouth a few times while the other country still posed.

"Gawsh, woman, say something!" he yelled finally.

"W-what can I say? You're a lot louder then I expected you to be?" she said. America stopped and scratched his head.

"You know, I get that a lot."

"I'm not surprised." Seychelles retorted.

"Damn, Canada was right. You're feisty."

"Canada? You know him?" Seychelles looked at him with disbelief. "Oh, of course you do. You were both England's colonies at one point..." she remembered the photo album, and then her dream came back. She felt coldness in her stomach, and she wrapped her arms around herself.

"Hey, bra, are you alright?" America asked, concerned. She sniffled.

"I miss him," she said, not knowing why she was telling a stranger this. "But he doesn't love me..."

"This sounds oddly familiar." America said.

"What..?"

"Nothing. Come with me." he roughly grabbed the girl nation, who was staring at him with confusion.

"Uh... Where?"

America stopped, paused... And then turned around dramatically.

"To go and see- the one! The only! Britain!" he waited for her response as she stared. "Hey, at least say something. I used my best announcer impression-"

"I can't." she whispered.

"Huh? Why not?"

"Because I'm scared... He said such mean things to me last time. I don't want to be hated by him... It's too painful." Seychelles looked up desperately. "Surely you understand?"

America smiled. But it wasn't his usual idiotic or confident smile; it was heart wrenching and sad. "Yeah," he said heavily. "I definitely understand.

"But that's why you have to go. You have to face all your fears eventually, right?" he added, brightening. Seychelles cocked her head, confused. "Because that's the only way you'll find out the truth, or manage to move on."

"Wow..." she said, moved.

"Unless it has to do with ghosts. And then those you can keep on ignoring forever..." America shivered, and Seychelles stared at him. _He really is a strange country, _She though wryly.

"So, little lady. Are you ready?" he looked her in the eyes, his glasses flashing. She swallowed, feeling the fear urge up, pushing out of her throat and eyes until...

Until it was gone.

"Yes," she said.

"England, wazzup?" America asked as he sauntered into the elegant house. England looked up, miffled.

"Why are you here?" he demanded. "And who is that behind you?" he peered behind the tall brash country, somehow hoping it would be her... But it wasn't. Seychelles would never cloth herself in all those thick cloaks and skirts and veils. He shook his head.

"Oh, yeah. That's my servant. She carries all my food," America breezily replied. England cocked a thick eyebrow.

"Poor girl. I hope you pay her a lot." England said. He sounded more like his old self, but it lacked the emotion he'd normally put into it.

"Oh, yeah. Listen, I found that chick-" America began. The reaction was immediate. England's head swung up, his eyes wide with shock.

"W-what are you talking about?" he stuttered.

"You know... That midget African island? Yeah, well, I found her. Pretty hot!" America made a sizzling sound for emphasis. "I'd tap that island any time, bro."

"Ha, ha." England said. "Really? You saw her?"

"Well, evidently. Would you like me to tell you again? I. Saw. That. Island. Is that enough times for you?" America laughed, but he was clearly getting annoyed with having to repeat himself.

"Oh..." England said. "Er... That's good. I supposed."

"Yup."

"Um," England said, glancing at the servant girl. "Can you make some tea for us, please?" he asked, embarrassed at his emotional outburst in front of this stranger. The servant girl nodded, and then walked off to the kitchen.

_How odd, _he thought. But the thought was never completed, because America sneezed loudly.

"I thought I told you to cover your mouth when you sneeze," England sighed, irritated.

"You told me lots of stuff. I'm pretty good at filtering most of it out."

"Amazing... You even admit that you're an idiot."

"Is it just me, or am I like, the butt of everyone's jokes and snide comments?"

"Don't worry. It's not just you." England smiled. He was feeling a little bit better. For such an annoying country, America could usually cheer him up. They sat in silence for a few moments.

"So..." England began.

"Yeah?"

"How... How is she?" America glanced over and saw England face. He wasn't blushing like he had thought the island nation would be, but was instead looking pleadingly into his eyes. America swallowed; it was rare to see England this emotionally sober.

"She's... Well. I dunno. You should ask her yourself." there was a clatter as the veiled girl set the tea cups down. America took a swig and swallowed, thinking. "Thanks. You can just stand over there," he said, motioning her over to the corner. She stared at him for a long moment before slowly moving to the spot.

"I couldn't ask her," England said.

"Dude, what's with all this 'can't' and 'couldn't?'" America snapped. "You evidently can. The only thing stopping you is yourself! Why can't you just go see her and tell her you love her?"

England glanced over at the younger country.

"I wish I could. Oh, bloody hell, I'd do anything if I could. But... But she doesn't want that. And if it makes her unhappy, then how could I possibly tell her?"

"Um, I dunno. Because maybe you can't read minds?" The United States shook his head, his cow-lick bouncing. "You have no idea what she's thinking. She could say one thing, but want another. What makes you think she hates you?"

"Well... We were always arguing..." England began.

"Yeah? So? You just proved your point. You _always _argued, but you still have the hots for her. Who's to say that it's going to be any different for her?" America drank some more of the tea. "Jeezus, this stuff is nasty." he took another sip.

"W-well... She refused me before-"

"She's pretty young and innocent, dude. If you had a young maiden heart and you were confessed to by some who had ruled over you, wouldn't you be freaking out as well?" America said quickly. He waved his hands for emphasis. England stared.

"When did you get so wise?" he asked.

"Dude. I'm a big ass country. I go way deeper then just a loud mouthed and insensitive America," he said smoothly. "This really is the nastiest liquid I've ever tasted."

"I see..." England said, rubbing his chin. "So... How do I go about telling her- or even just convincing her- that I really do love her?"

"Okay, I may be wise, but I'm not a freaking guru. Do it yourself, bro. Now. I have to pee like a boss." and the rude country stood up and walked away.

"Ahh, he drives me nuts." England muttered. He reached out and took a dignified sip of his tea, thinking. "This is really quite good," he told the servant girl. "Thank you." She bowed. "It tastes quite familiar..." he trailed off, staring at her. He'd never seen this girl before, yet she knew where the kitchen was, and knew where the tea supplies were kept. He didn't even hear the squeak in the hallway that people always stepped on unless they knew it was there. He stood up, his heart in his throat. "Seychelles-?" he began. The girl was trembling, shaking her head. He walked towards her, hesitatingly at first, but when she began to turn around he ran those last few steps and grabbed her gloved wrist. "Is it really you?" he asked urgently. She shook her head, but he didn't believe her. He ripped the veil off, and a tumble of deep brown curls fell out, and her amber eyes were staring into his emerald ones. He stopped.

"Seychelles," England whispered.

**A/N: AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH CLIMAX. :/**


	10. An Argument

"Seychelles..." England whispered.

She stared back, petrified. "E-England," she managed. "Um, I'm sorry, but I had to come and say something and _Monsieur_ America said he'd help me and- oh..." she trailed off, because England had stared with rapture at her until he gathered her up in his arms, hugging her so tight that she could barely breathe. "_Monsieur_ England," she gasped. "I-I can't breathe!"

He loosened his hold a bit, and drew his head back to look at her. "I-I'm sorry." he said.

"No, it's alright," Seychelles murmured, red in her face. "But, um. It's good to see you again..."

His gaze, which had been slightly out of focus, snapped back to hers. She flinched at the sudden intense concentration with which they gazed at her. "Really?" he asked. "I thought you'd never want to speak to me again, after what I did, saying I l-loved you and then saying it was a joke-"  
>"Yes, that did make me very angry." Seychelles said. England swallowed, and dropped his arms.<p>

"I see..." he muttered.

"But... I missed you. So I came back." she watched him. England had frozen, his eyes wide.

"M-miss me-?"

"Was what you said true?" she asked.

"Huh?"

"The part where you love me?" the girl nation's eyes stared at him, unflinching He looked back, wondering what she wanted. She wasn't blushing, and she wasn't timid. She stood there, strong and unyielding, but at the same time vulnerable and scared.

"I..." he began, and then looked away.

"Because I love you." he heard her step closer. "I don't know why. Well, yes I do. You're always mean to me, but that's because you're easily embarrassed. But inside, you're such a kind person. You bought me gifts and worried about me. And it made me happy when you were kind. I don't even know when I fell in love but-" here, her clear and strong voice trembled, and a small sob came out. England looked up, startled. Tears streamed down her dark skin, shining in the light that came through the windows. Small, desperate droplets clung to her eyelashes. But she was smiling... Oh, how she smiled! Her mouth curved gently, uplifting with almost the softest of swells. Her eyes shone with the feelings she was pouring out, her eyebrows uplifted. She gaze at him intensely. England swallowed.

"I love you so much," she whispered. "I'm sorry for before. I don't know... I didn't know this feeling. And I must have hurt you-"

It was too much. He covered her mouth his hand, staring at her.

"Please... No more." he said. She blinked, confused. And then tears streamed out as she turned her eyes to the side, closing them with shame and understanding. "No, no!" he said hastily. "I'm not rejecting you. You have no idea..." he choked. "I-I-... I always wanted to hear you say that to me.." he felt his face heating up, but he had to get the words out. Now was not the time to worry about how he looked. "But I just... What I said before... When I loved you. That _was _true. But I thought you hated me for it, so I tried to trick you..." he sighed. "I really do love you... I love you for all the reasons I should hate you."

She gave him a quizzical stare.

"You're stubborn and annoying. You never listen, you're disobedient, you always look as if you fell out of a tree!" he began hotly. Her soft and lovely expression was gone, and she glared at him over his hand. "But you're beautiful. You have so much spirit, and you are so passionate... You're almost like the sea itself."

"Mphhlf?" she said, her voice muffled.

He took his hand away from her mouth and caressed her cheek. "I'm very happy," he said.

And then he kissed her.

She responded almost immediately, leaning into the kiss. England sighed through his nose, feeling a thrill race up and down his body. She was kissing him back! He felt with delight. She was responding, and not in a bad way!

"Whoa... Things are going a lot better then I thought..." interrupted a very familiar and very unwelcome voice.

England sighed, exasperated. Seychelles had already torn her lips free and was looking at the ground fiercely, blushing. "What do you want, America?" he said, but his voice cracked. England blushed furiously as America smirked.

"A thank you would be nice," said America rather arrogantly. England rolled his eyes.

"A thank you. Right. Thank you, then." he said. He felt Seychelles trying to squeeze out of his grasp, but he held on. He wasn't about to let her go after the last couple of weeks where he didn't see her. "No. Thank you," he said again. But this time, the words were loaded with more then two words should be able to handle. America grinned back.

"No problem, dude." he pushed up his glasses, and then picked up his jacket. "Welp. I'm going to go now. My duty is done." he stared at them with a serious face, but then sputtered out a laugh. "No, don't rush to say goodbye, will you?"

Seychelles pushed away from England and ran up to give him a hug. "_Monsieur _America, _Je suis desole!"_

"For what?" America asked.

"I thought you were nothing but an arrogant and stupid country at first! From what I've heard, you're obnoxious and insensitive!"

"Ah, but you have discovered better, right?" America asked, keeping an eye on England. He stuck out his tongue as he put his hand on her satin shoulder.

_"Oui. _You are all those, but you are also kind and helpful, when you want to be." she smiled at him. "Thank you!" and she kissed him on the cheek.

"Noooo problem! For a reward like that, I'm willing to do that anytime!" and he winked at her. When she turned her back to return next to England, America took his thumb and pushed up his nose, waggling his fingers and sticking out his tongue. England bristled.

"Why, you wanker!" he growled.

America laughed as he jumped out of the way and escaped out the house. Britain simmered for a few seconds. And then he felt a light touch on his arm.

"Ummmm..." Seychelles said. England watched her very carefully. "Is it alright if I... If I return?" she looked down, then left, and then finally into his face.

England pretended to think. He watched her face steadily grow more worried, and then almost started laughing as it turned to annoyance.

"I suppose so. I'll have to work you twice as hard-"

"Nevermind, then." she snapped.

"Wha-?"

"If I have to work twice as hard, then I really rather not." she sniffed. She walked away, and England soon found himself the one with a worried look on his face.

"Wait!" he said urgently, and he grabbed her arm, swinging her around. She was laughing.

"You're so easy to make fun of!" she told him.

"Well, I'm glad I could be of service," he muttered.

"Me too." she replied. He glared at her, and she glared back with as much ferocity as she could muster. And then he leaned in and kissed her.

"Welcome back," he murmured. She smiled.

"Don't think that much has changed. I'm still a stubborn girl," she told him, her lips moving against his. England closed his eyes, inhaling her scent.

"And I'm still a short tempered gentleman."

She laughed. "At least half of that is right. I'm not so sure about the other part-"

"Oh, get stuffed."

"_Monsieur, suggesting_ something like that? Shame on you!" she laughed. He blushed.

"N-not like that!"

"At least, not yet!" she said mischievously. He blushed an even deeper shade of red.

"I- you- ngh- GO TO YOUR ROOM!" he shouted. She stepped out of his arms, hands on her hips.

"I don't want to," she sniffed.

"I'm bloody England, and you'll do what you're told-"

"Oooh _monsieur, _that will not work with me anymore." she grinned. "Ask me again nicely, and I might."

"Ugggh," England moaned.

But even with the annoyance, he was incredibly happy.

Because Seychelles was here, with him, where he would want her to be most in the world. And while he knew they were deeply in love with each other, that did not mean they were going to be nice. They bickered too much for that.

"So..." England began. Seychelles raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Where does this put, er, us?" he asked, hesitatingly. "How does this affect our relationship?"

Seychelles smiled, and it was so soft that England could have fallen in love with her if he hadn't already loved her.

"It's complicated," she said eventually, and she kissed him.

**A/N: omg it's like totally the end now. Umm... sorry for weird ending. I hope, if you've managed to read till the end, that you liked it! And thanks for finishing it!**


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